


Rose Water Regret

by Lupo (LupoLight)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (Android)Hate Crimes, (Thanks Amanda), AWRBB2020, AndroidWhumpReverseBigBang2020, Connor Needs A Hug, Dismemberment, Gen, Gore, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Recovery, Shrapnel Attack, Temporary Character Death, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupoLight/pseuds/Lupo
Summary: When Connor is left alone after a protective detail, nothing left to do but think, his mind fills in the void. It forces him to remember and mull over his past. Including someone he’d much rather forget.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: Android Whump Reverse Big Bang





	Rose Water Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh!!! This was so not what I'm used to, but so fun! I hope this is ouch enough for everyone!
> 
> My partner for this event was the wonderful Faniora! Please, check out the art they did here!  
> ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210866 )
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful staff of the event and to my artist for being so understanding! I really hope you all like this!
> 
> And lastly, thank you Florian, for beta-reading! You're an amazing friend and I wouldn't be confident in writing Connor without you!

“I want to thank you all so much for attending this opening ceremony!”

A round of applause erupted from the crowd, his vantage point letting him see all from the stage set behind the Jersey barriers, behind bollards. They provided a layer of security Connor himself insisted on, though Markus had found the measure a little extreme.

Call it a ‘gut’ feeling, but Connor didn’t like how they were placing this building within the crosshairs of a radical anti-android group, the ‘Flesh Fighters’, as they so labeled themselves. Especially with day fading to night, bright spotlights keeping the area lit. Markus was undeterred, standing on the stage with four other guards and Josh joining him.

Behind them, a building, tall and wide, wrapped around a green space that carried the scent of flowers on the wind even as the man spoke. “Jericho is proud to announce that, at last, New Jericho’s Recovery and Relief Center can be opened to all those seeking assistance and guidance with their own awakening. It’s been a long time coming, and we’ve faced many challenges…” 

Tuning out Markus’s voice, he focused on the crowd, standing at attention. Because it was recognizable, Connor wore his Cyberlife outfit, although he wished that he had removed the identifying markers, at least. No one called it out any longer, thanks to Cyberlife remaking itself into a whole new brand. They helped androids still, of course, and somehow continued android production, with more rules set in place to prevent abusive deviation. But their commercial focus turned onto another invention. Prosthetics- allowing humans to integrate with android technology.

All in all, they weren’t the company they used to be. And while Connor infinitely preferred silly patterned shirts and ties, he’d wear this outfit whenever he needed to present himself, as he did now, as someone to be easily recognized as Jericho’s defender.

He spotted movement in the back of the crowd, a new group of people merging in with it, and scanned their faces to the best of his ability. He, thankfully, still worked for the DPD as well, acting as a leader for the Android-Human relations of the DPD, and an ambassador for Jericho. It allowed him access to records still, enabling him to keep watch even better. None of them pinged back alerts though, so he kept his attention elsewhere. It was a large crowd, full of so many people. Future workers and supporters, as well as those who were asking for something like this. Even a good number of humans were there with their friends.

“As we continue to move forward, androids and humans alike, I ask that we remain patient and compassionate. Emotions are something so strong and wonderful, and yet are so wild and unknown. In everyone, we must learn to live with the new emotions of those around us, and help each other grow.” The words were nice enough, though Connor knew from experience that some people would rather prune deviancy like weeds than encourage it to develop.

As the thought crossed his mind, he got a new message from Hank, smiling as the man sent him a photo of a salad with pieces of baked breaded chicken on top.

[ _No fries, but I did try sunflower seeds._ ]

[ _And?_ ]

[ _Not half bad. When’s the whole thing done tonight- Sumo misses you already._ ]

He missed Sumo too. Hank took him in after the revolution, Connor helping around the house- as much as he wanted to, at least. Hank took care of it too, doing the laundry while Connor did dishes. And while Connor helped Hank ease off of drinking so much, Hank took it upon himself to crash course Connor through various shows and movies, and of course music.

[ _I bet. Tell him he’ll get belly rubs when I’m home._ ]

He simply got a thumbs up back, focusing more intently on another car that was pulling up. No one got out though and his back stiffened just slightly, eyeing it but not yet alerting the others. However, he did alert them when more cars showed up, all stopping around each other but no one climbing out. He couldn’t see plates on any of them either.

He shifted on his feet, feeling his gun tucked in his pants. _Technically_ , he was the only one here armed in _this_ way. Being a detective granted him access to the firearm, but androids hadn’t technically gained the right to carry them. Yet. He was sure that was- somewhere on Markus’s list. Then again, as the man continued wishing for a better future, he doubted that. Markus was so kind, and he believed in peaceful solutions to everything. Guns weren’t anywhere on his mind right now.

When the first car’s doors opened, Connor’s eyes focused on them. A quick scan revealed that the man was pinged for assault on an android several times, one more offense away from jail time. He wore the symbol of the Flesh Fighters, and Connor’s LED spun amber on his temple. Then he messaged Markus to wrap this up, as protestors had shown up finally. Catching the brief sigh, he almost huffed right back before several more, _masked_ , protestors left the car.

Some held signs. Some held bats.

[ _Markus- now!_ ]

Connor called the protestors in, knowing violence would only follow, and two bodyguards moved to start dispersing the crowd. It was as Markus finished up, Josh moving towards the steps off the stage, that something was thrown. It took three seconds for Connor to realize it was a rock, and intercept it accordingly.

But it was similar to throwing a rock in a greenhouse. The metaphorical walls shattered as the protestors started shouting. “ _Jericho will fall! Down with the dolls!_ ” Those in the back of the crowd scattered with yells that barely drowned out the chanting, but then someone brought a large bag out of the one car, and then several more brought bags out of the others.

This wasn’t a protest- this was an attack. He called it in as rocks started raining on the crowd and stage. Humans and androids alike suffered blows under the stony hail, and Connor quickly urged Markus back.

“Go through the back of the building, get out of here. We’ll take it from here and try to get everyone o- _out!_ ” He shouted, smashed in the back of the head with a rock. He started rubbing it, feeling a dull throb there. Curse deviancy for the development of _pain_ , because it was beyond annoying. He turned, grabbing and pocketing the rock, then made sure Markus and Josh escaped into the building.

The ETA on backup was half an hour out, everyone already pre-occupied with other instances of unrest. Connor entertained the possibility this was a planned attack and checked in with North and Simon to make sure both of the other leaders were alright. North was hanging out with some girls, watching the news when they weren’t busy, and Simon was at the New Jericho headquarters, making sure their security was in place.

Assured everyone was fine, or would be in the end, he focused back on the crowd. People were going down, but then he heard the loud _pop_ and watched several people drop at once. Ice settled low in his core as he got off the stage, starting to pick people up and help them away. Then when he realized it wasn’t enough, more people were going down than he could help keep up, he changed his focus.

The best defense was a good offense, after all. He told the others of his plans, and charged the group with rocks, throwing them back. Non-lethal, of course, but damaging in every right way as he aimed for the chest and legs, taking people down. He had yet to hear any gunshots, but he supposed whatever that pop was could’ve been infinitely worse. 

Several protestors went down under his returned fire, and part of Connor found it _ironic_ they were fighting with the equivalent of sticks and stones. But then a bat was swung at him, and he had to catch it just short of connecting against his face. He ripped it out of the protestor’s hands, wielding it himself and knocking the man out with it. Then there was another pop, only for the shouts of several people and the thump of bodies. The ice grew in him, and several people rushed him.

His fighting protocols helped in many situations. But ten against one, with the ten armed, wasn’t one of them. When he took one down, another came at him, and he was unable to make sure if his attacks were non-lethal or not. 

Turning towards someone as they shouted for help, he bashed his way forward, and then felt several- Three? Four?- pairs of hands grab at his arm. The following tug had pain lancing up the appendage, several errors warning him of impending damage. Other people crowded in, seeing his entrapment, and something like _fear_ rose in his throat, a choking ball for someone who didn’t need to breathe. It sat heavily around his neck, and then with someone grabbing the opposite arm- the resulting, opposite pulls…

 _Connor screamed_. The pain lanced, amping up and up until his shirt ripped- and so did his chassis. Errors spammed his vision as he registered the arm was gone numbly. Thirium dripped down that side of his coat, and absentmindedly, trying to focus on anything but the pain, he thought about the fact he wouldn’t be wearing this coat any more.

Then one of the bodyguard models pulled him out of the group, brandishing a bat and several pieces of something shiny from his arm. They pulled behind a line of androids helping to fight back the protestors, allowing many more to escape. “Connor, are you ok?” ‘ _I just fucking lost an arm, do I_ look _ok?!_ ’ Connor took a deep breath, reaching over to where the arm had broken off, but unable to reach inside it. Errors continued to spam him.

“Need you to knot the thirium artery tube before I bleed out entirely.” It took a moment, but the bodyguard nodded, moving to his side and Connor yelped as he placed his hand in. Touching the edges was like touching a livewire to his skin- it stung and burn and tingled in ways that were nearly overwhelming. And touching the frayed wires was the same, only ten times more intense, the feeling traveling to his thirium pump as his other hand clenched.

“Done! Come on, get u-” The man didn’t get to finish his sentence as someone yelled _‘cover!_ ’, followed by the sound of another _pop_. This time, Connor was close enough to hear the light sound of glass and metal hitting the ground and the people close by. The shiny objects in the bodyguard’s arm made sense.

It was shrapnel. They were using shrapnel devices. Connor felt _furious_ , getting up and grabbing his gun. He called in the use of his weapon, not wanting to explain this later, already filing in the report of his now missing limb. Then he turned in the use of the protestors’ weapons and took aim. With a Jersey barrier as cover, pushing the bodyguard to the crowd, he scanned the possible targets.

There was one man in the back, yelling out orders, and while Connor _could_ aim lethally, and he _wanted_ to, he didn’t. He wouldn’t let the anger make him a killer, not in any sense. He had enough blood on his hands to last a lifetime. So he aimed for the middle, as officers were trained, and fired.

The man went down, sending the protestors into a flurry. He aimed for anyone throwing things next, unsure of who had the devices and who had rocks. Nine rounds left and then ten protestors downed. There weren’t many left. Despite the low thirium warnings blaring at him, he stood back up.

Only to see someone above him. He swallowed and that was all he could do before the bat was brought down on his good shoulder. And then his head, hard enough to jostle everything. Warnings spammed him- and then- nothing. His vision cut out to black for a few moments, his audio fizzled, and while no timer appeared in his HUD, he felt the fear of this being _it_. It grabbed hold of him, choking out his other thoughts. Still, he saw something get tossed. There were people still there. Connor couldn’t sit there and do nothing. He was here to protect people, no matter what. So, even with the imminent threat of a forced stasis clawing at him, he stood. His last act before the world went sideways was to shield an AX400 from the incoming pop, nudging her down with his good shoulder. And then- _pop_ \- the blast close enough to force Connor to the ground. The last thing he could focus on was the little popup, saying back up was four minutes and twenty-two seconds out.

Then, there was silence. Connor felt- _something_ \- warm, soft. Sunlight, but not like the kind he was under before. This was gentle, that of a morning, not the dead of summer afternoon. His eyes blinked open, and he raised both hands in front of him, blocking out the vision of a clear blue sky. Right, both arms. He flexed his right hand, knowing it shouldn’t be there. And it didn’t _feel_ there, even now. His left felt the grass, the texture of his own skin, the tension as he curled the fingers.

His right felt none of that, just existing. Still, he sat up, looking around and noticing the familiar emptiness of the zen garden. Just plants and trees, swaying in a soft breeze. Relaxing- and terribly lonely. He accessed the last error log, the words floating in front of him in blaring red Cyberlife sans. 

Missing components, damage to several more internal components, the chassis on his upper right side completely unsalvageable by his systems definition. He can’t see it, not like this, but the words have him gulp. His system won’t give him a death timer or a thirium count, so he was sure that whatever triggered the forced stasis was related to the head blow he took.

He can’t call out either, and when he sighed in the garden there was no response. So he put away the report and started walking. He started up a timer, an attempt to keep track of time as he walked around aimlessly.

This continued for about a day, hopefully, his timer had started glitching past twelve hours, just walking until he’d tired of even that. He had abandoned his Cyberlife jacket over the bench beside the rose trellis and even tried swimming. The water felt cool, in a comforting way, but in a disorienting way as well. Like it wasn’t _right._ His real body must still be somewhere warm, and it was concerning.

He wanted out of here, to see if he was getting repaired finally or just bleeding out somewhere. He thought of Sumo, never going home to rub his belly. He thought of Hank, who likely saw the attack on the news. He didn’t want to die, but there was no exit program now. Just an empty, tranquil garden.

On day three, or four, he wasn’t sure. The timer felt useless as he walked by the trellis for the fifty-third time, he thought of the garden’s only other former resident. He noticed the water bottle, sitting there, still, and despite having sat there for months, it hadn’t gathered dust. No one’s watered the roses either, all the same color and size, completely perfect. They thrive, despite it, despite the lack of her. 

Her. His ‘mentor’. The AI Cyberlife used to control and correct him. The woman he wanted nothing more than to impress. Gain her soft smiles. Her approval. Even the thought had the one side of his lip twitching into a snarl, brown eyes losing their warmth as they narrowed at the rose trellis.

The next day, or at least, it _felt_ like a day, he thought of her again, now sitting on the bridge, just looking at the roses and the water bottle. He wondered, briefly, what the _real_ Amanda was like. Was she more motherly? Or strict, being a professor and all. Would she have encouraged Connor now? Now that he was doing good, despite all the times he didn’t listen? Not that he regretted that. There’s still a part of him that was so upset he couldn’t say _goodbye_.

Even if he realized, after having a healthy talk with several other androids, that she was never any good for him… He still regretted not saying so much. He wondered then- if she felt anything. Not emotionally, as he truly doubted that. But physically. As he felt the sun rays, the soft roses, the scent of flowers- he wondered if she could.

Or if smelling the roses was all aesthetics. Why waste your time with imaginary flowers if they didn’t provide her with _something_? And then, for the briefest moment, he wondered why it mattered. Why she ever mattered.

It would’ve been so much easier for Cyberlife to maintain a direct connection to him through his stasis. But instead, they chose to get him attached to an AI that only had so much power in the end. 

A cloud’s shadow passed over him, and he ignored the questions, left alone once more. He falls backwards off the bridge, just to create a splash.

By day seven he turned off the timer, a whole week alone, give or take a couple days, in this peaceful, tranquil _hell_. He envied other androids. Other androids spent stasis reviewing memories, like first-person movies. They could feel everything they felt in that memory again, and most chose to live happier and mundane memories. He knew one android that would download videos to watch specifically in stasis, since he had the time then and literally nothing else to do.

No, he spent stasis, indefinitely, in this lifeless garden, surrounded by nothing but horrid memories and uncertainty. There’s not even fish in the ponds anymore. Just trees. Flowers. Roses. He got up, having laid on the canoe so that at least _something_ would move beside him. He didn’t dock it, there was no point in doing so, but he did let it go adrift. 

Watching the wooden craft drift across water aimlessly almost felt like a self callout, and he chuckled at his own irony. There was no reason to rush, so he walked, brushed against as many plants and trees and smooth stone as he could, until he was back at the roses. They’re still there, red as ever, and so is the misting bottle.

Walking over to it, he picked the bottle up, pointedly in his right arm, knowing he’d feel nothing in it. He needed to stay grounded with the reality of this all. He was alive, there was still a lack of a death timer. No thirium alert, which meant he was getting repaired- somehow. And for some reason, he wasn’t awake.

It wasn’t something he wanted to _dwell_ on though, so choosing the most mindless escape possible, he began to mist the roses. He started at the bottom, kneeling to get the red blooms down there. There were so many roses, and by the time he’s halfway up the trellis, several hours have passed.

‘ _No_ wonder _Amanda did this,_ ’ he huffed the thought out, smiling a bit as he continued. It was truly time-consuming. He imagined the AI, stuck in here, with nothing to do, just water the roses of the trellis. He paused, looking to the large pillar, wondering if she ever attempted to water those too. At least, the ones she could reach.

He shook his head of the thought, instead, finishing up with a contented sigh. He had even begun humming, finding a tune stuck in his head. 

Watching the roses dry, _literally_ , he was content to find time at least passed normally here. Despite the ever-present daylight, and the absence of a _sun_ , which _didn’t_ unnerve him. Not one bit. Despite both of those, time did move, as the water dried slowly, and the plants absorbed their drops. He walked over, and did the process anew, day eight starting soon.

A part of him wondered if Amanda ever felt this alone. Sure, she was an AI. All she ever knew was this place. And while she was alive, there were birds and fish, butterflies and crickets. There were noises and life here, but even with all that, he couldn’t help but wonder if she ever waited for Connor.

He wondered if she felt at all. It wasn’t that far stretched to think she _could_. He knew she felt impatience, and that she had to have felt boredom, to find the idle task of watering the roses instead of waiting on him.

For a brief moment, guilt washed over Connor, setting the bottle down on its table. Given all of this, he wondered if it was possible to deviate the AI. Where she went, after here. Did she die with the exit program? Or did she return to Cyberlife, locked inside coding, never to see her roses again?

Would she have cared about her roses? Would she have wanted a body once deviated? So many questions he wasn’t able to answer, instead, ending her existence before he could give her a chance to live. He wondered if this was what Detective Reed meant about pack bonding with anything. Here he was, alone in a garden, feeling guilt for a _program_.

Not an android, not the conscience of an android, a _program_. Meant to control and manipulate him. Yet, like him, went against that plan even, picking up rose-tending and asking for rides around in the canoe.

Part of him wondered if, like him, Amanda was deviating over time. Then, if she had, was she a deviant, knowing that if Connor failed his mission, she failed hers? Her program would’ve become obsolete, not passed on to- whatever came after him.

Was she just preserving himself? He felt a lump in his throat, fussing with the buttons on the bottom of his shirt. Not even a coin to calibrate with. He knew what this emotion was, all too well even. He felt guilty for destroying a program. A program he had no control. That hurt him and would’ve seen his downfall. But a program that acted outside of her programming nonetheless.

It was then he heard a hum beside him, head whipping over so fast that he was almost surprised it didn’t whip right off. There, picking up the bottle, was Amanda. She misted the flowers as if she never left. As if there was never a blizzard, or a guilty conscience to mourn her.

His previous feelings drowning in the sudden nature of her appearance… Connor felt- affronted? Something like that, at her, just showing up after all this time. “ _Really!_ Only after I feel like shit for eight days you show up!” But there was no response.

“Oh, _real_ mature Amanda, cold shoulder treatment.” He groaned, turning away and heading back for the stepping stone like bridge. Away from her and her childish antics.

He noticed as another day passed, ‘ _nine_ ’, he thought numbly, that there were no other signs of life. He was almost sure that as he made his way back to the trellis, there would be no Amanda. Just a glitch in the Zen Garden program. Or his own psyche. But no, she was still there, just admiring the roses now. “Are you going to talk to me today?”

He asked the question as he would of a particularly troublesome kid. Or a certain detective. There was no response, not even a twitch that she heard him, or was surprised he came back. No surprise he was here at all. No reaction. “You know, two can play this game. I’ve been in here for nine days- I can certainly outlast your stubborn refusal to talk to me.” He sat down on the platform, looking at her.

Hours passed, with the only movement being gentle fingers holding and tugging on roses, inspecting them, placing them back. She continued to do this, pruning bad leaves off, wiping down the trellis with her sleeve. Not once did she say a word, just humming, some tune Connor didn’t recognize.

As the hours turned into half a day, Connor groaned, getting up as she picked up the misting bottle again. “Come _on_ Amanda! Say something! Be disappointed! Be- anything!” He walked in front of her, only to get sprayed with water. Then Connor watched as her face morphed.

Into one of pure confusion. Her lips pursed, and she raised the bottle and sprayed again, the hum stopping. Only to again spray Connor, the front of his shirt wet now. Then, she reached forward, and Connor stepped back, walking into the trellis. “N-No, don’t you-” He didn’t finish his sentence, as the hand went onto his shirt… and then through him. There was nothing _to_ feel, as she pulled a rose against his back, huffing but then moving to the other side.

He watched as she tugged a rose again, sprayed it, then looked to the rose she tried to spray. As if looking through Connor. Like he didn’t exist.

Because she didn’t exist. He hated this place. He knew his stress rate spiked at this, tears coming to his eyes, as the guilt of everything manifested like this. A glitch in his Zen Garden. Dully, he moved to the side, feeling the choking lump in his throat again. Back leaning against the tall pillar, Connor watched as she watered all around the roses he was blocking, and then did those last, a small smile coming to her face as she did so. The bottle was placed down again, and Amanda hummed, happy for a job well done.

Connor couldn’t feel more hollow. He wanted out- out of this sunless land of never changing flowers and trees. Where no birds sang and no fish swam in the pond. Where no one talked to him, and he couldn’t talk with anyone. He hated this feeling, this loneliness sinking into his very core, gripping his thirium pump.

He didn’t even notice as the world faded to black around his sight. He just wanted to sleep, to be over with this, to never come into the garden again. And as he readied to scream, the sound caught in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut.

When his eyes opened again, Connor was greeted not with a bright blue sky, but with grey tile, and harsh lights. Light. One big circular one that was definitely not the garden or the sun. He could feel _everything_. His left hand was strapped down, and his right- missing. He could feel a temporary seal over that side, only able to describe it as someone hot gluing plastic wrap over the hole, but he couldn’t see it. His head was strapped down too.

“Connor! Connor relax- your stress levels are way too high. Can you hear us?” His eyes flickered away from the light and caught the face of Josh, worry clear as day. Josh, with North and Simon behind him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Connor?”

“Yes…” Oh- his voice was staticky as if damaged. He pulled up the latest diagnostics report, seeing his vocal modulator was badly damaged, among many other things. There was also a list of repairs, and he saw a concerning amount of hardware components in his cranial region had been knocked out of place. Now they were proper, needing to have his self-repair feature run on them once, but his body was in less than fortunate shape.

“Good- good. Listen- you took a _nasty_ hit with a weapon. They found glass shards so far into you that they had to completely drain and replace your thirium and clean you out. Can you remember anything?”

Connor groaned, closing his eyes as he felt the aches of that. It wasn’t like muscle aches, but instead- the feeling of being scrubbed raw, is what he would describe it as. He noticed that the missing part of him felt so much colder than the rest, and opening his eyes, he could see how the skin refused to lay over marred and bumpy chassis.

“Can you give me a moment to process the fact I am down a whole limb?” He didn’t mean to sound so sour, but even he knew not to process victims while they were still in a hospital bed. And while a repair center wasn’t a hospital, and he already didn’t like calling himself a victim, the point still stood.

He heard the distinct sound of a hand meeting the back of someone’s head and looked to see North’s hand raised above Josh’s, who was rubbing the smacked area with a pout.

“Josh meant well- what we mean to say is- are you alright? Your stress levels started spiking a lot where they were adjusting the last pieces up in that big head of yours.” She leaned against his bed, and he rolled his eyes at her choice of words.

At least it explained the glitch of Amanda coming back. Though the guilt and the sense of loss never left. “I could be better. Have they given anyone an estimate on when they’ll lend me a hand?” It was a terrible joke, but the tense air in the room was too much to handle. At least North snorted, and someone else he couldn’t see, assuming it was a technician.

“A couple weeks. They had to scan a spare part from another destroyed model of you and now they’ll reproduce one. Said they might get that other model in working order too.”

“Ah, just what Detroit needs, another self-sacrificing detective with a severe lack of self-preservation skills.” Simon’s voice wasn’t harsh when he finally spoke up, Connor knew that, yet the concerned and tired tone had him wincing nonetheless. He wasn’t harsh, just truthful. 

“Did- how many got hurt?” The question left silence in its wake, but North was the one to speak up, hating the tense air in the room. She always did find a way to break the ice.

“Twenty-three androids, five humans. Eight, if you count the ones that were attacking. As for casualties, there were seven androids out of those twenty-three that didn’t make it, and four humans. Only one from the attacking side died. After you took that hit, the DPD showed up and started arresting people, chasing down the runner’s.” Connor sighed, feeling the personal weight of those who died.

“Can someone let me up?”

“No can do. You still have a couple repairs to go, but they couldn’t leave you in stasis. They’ll turn your sensors off until they’re done though.”

Speaking of, two people walked in as North finished speaking, one in floral purple scrubs and the other in a grey long coat. “Connor Anderson?”

“Correct.”

“I’m going to have to ask you folks to leave- we’ll be resuming fixing your friend here.” North looked to Connor, taking a hold of his good hand. 

“You all good Con?”

“Yeah- yeah I’m good. See you guys afterwards.” She nodded, offering him a smile which he returned, and then everyone left.

It only took two more days for repairs to be complete. He asked for a way to completely disable the zen garden, allowing him the memory review system most androids had. They removed the program fully and shortly after had him enter a stasis to test the replacement.

There was no garden. There was nothing. Just words, dates, folders. Opening one, like tapping on the screen of the terminal, it opened to several days worth of memories. He would have to go through these and find which ones he wanted to save to watch in stasis, but that was something for later.

As he woke up, he felt oddly hollow. He missed the garden already. He missed _Amanda_. He knew getting rid of the place wouldn’t get rid of the guilt, but at least he tried.

When he was finally allowed up, they told him it would be weeks until they got the arm back and could buff out the marks. And even then, they’d scar slightly, dip inwards, making a faint white mark on his synthskin. That was fine to him, and he shrugged it off.

Hank didn’t let him out of his sight for four days, taking care of him despite Connor’s insistence he could do it himself. He was beyond proud of him for not drinking despite the absence, and the house wasn’t even that messy when Connor got back. They celebrated by joining the DPD in a congratulatory outing for Connor’s bravery.

And that was nice. No one commented on the missing part of him, or the way his skin refused to lay. No one babied him, but if something was on his ‘bad side’, as Officer Chen so dubbed it, it was passed to the other arm. Even Detective Reed eased up, offering to pay for the whole thing. He and Hank argued on that, but in the end, the man slapped down a card and threatened to pay for balloons to be tied to Hank’s car if he didn’t let him pay.

It was a weird scene, but it made Connor smile nonetheless, as even Officer Miller offered money for the balloon fund if Hank didn’t back down. It worked, and Connor offered a middle ground, knowing Hank could pay for something else in the future. He was still grumpy, but when he looked to Connor, the frown eased up, and his hair was ruffled in a way the older man always did.

In a way, the whole group, of Chen, Reed, Miller, Hank, Fowler, Wilson, and Collins- they felt like another family. Connor felt glad to have them watching his back, and by the time everyone returned to their jobs or homes, Connor and Hank coming back to an excited Sumo, he felt truly happy since the news of the attack.

And for a bit, he forgot about his guilt. It wasn’t until he went to the recovery center that he remembered it. He wanted to check the place out, after all, it could be good for him to talk with others who had harmed for the sake of protecting themselves. Especially those in the attack during the opening, Connor having been informed several of those fighting beside him ended up here as well. 

Honestly, the center was more amazing than Connor thought of it. There was a calmness to everything, and despite the heavy topics that made the place necessary, the mood in the hallways was light. Unlike New Jericho was in the beginning, people actually talked, out loud, to each other. 

And they looked at ease. Some had high stress, despite their voice, and Connor tried not to eavesdrop. But as they passed, their stress would drop one or two percentages. Together, Markus and him checked out each area, and Markus saved the atrium for last. They stepped through the door in the back, an AP700 passing them in a pleated mint sundress. It reminded him of his state of dress, opting for just a white button-up and black jeans. He long since opened the shirt up, the texture over the bad side of his chest irritating him.

For a moment, everything felt surreal. Surrounding a middle island of white marble stone, with two rose trellis’s held sturdy, was a clear and deep pond, lilypads disturbed only by frogs or fish swimming underneath them. Along the banks of it, lined with the glass walls of the building, were flower bushes and batches of cat tails, and even small trees, having yet to truly grow.

And most noticeably, were the three bridges connecting to the middle part. They weren’t exactly the same, of course not, but the positioning was so similar that his stress ticked up just a bit. “We based it off that place you told us about,” Markus started from behind him, smiling to the garden. The bridges were flat, with no guard rails, just a couple steps, and a flat, white marble platform over to the middle. Each had one support beam into the lake, that Connor noticed had lights on it for night time

“I can… See that.” He was sure it was done as a kind gesture, yet the area made him feel like _running_. It wasn’t right, but yet close enough he felt guilt still. At the other ends of the other bridges were small sitting areas, one with more shade around it, and the other with more variance in flowers around it. No one sat outside today, but he could see himself, in another time, without the guilt on his shoulders, sitting there, talking with others like him.

Right now, Markus was walking forwards. “It’s been a great success, everyone seems to enjoy reconnecting with nature, and somewhere calm and safe is just what some people needed to lower their stress. We occasionally get animals brought in, just for petting sessions- Connor?” The man realized Connor never followed him and frowned as he faced him from the bridge. “Is- everything alright?”

‘ _No, not in the slightest_ ,’ sat on the edge of his tongue, but he swallowed the words and joined him. “It’s just- a lot. I had this program removed when they repaired me.”

Markus tilted his head, but they continued walking, coming to the white stone platform. Beside each rose trellis was a small table, like the ones in the garden, but there was a lack of a rose tower here. As well as an abundance of noise. Birds, cars, the water, the wind- it all rang out, so alive and well around him. Yet all he could think of, looking at the table with a bottle on it, was how Amanda would’ve called this place too noisy.

He wondered if she would be happy now, to see a replica of her garden in the real world. If she was still alive, or rather, if she still existed, would she have loved this? Been proud of Connor for inspiring this. “You’re deep in thought,” Markus started, cutting through his thoughts. Connor blinked when he realized he was beside the trellis, holding a rose that was loose from the bundle.

Unlike the roses in the program, these were alive. Aging, affected by the weather and the care, variant shades of red rather than one set color. This one, his system oh-so-helpfully explained, was the closest to the shade in the old program. “I am…” It was all he could say. How could he begin to explain that he felt bad for ending the existence of a _program_ that only served to manipulate and control him? That was his only guidance before Hank inserted himself into that role?

How could he explain he spent several days trapped in a garden with nothing but guilt and uncertainty. “Your LED is red, do you want to leave?” He looked over to Markus, noticing how he patiently waited by the bridge.

No wonder he got along so well with Lucy. They were cut from the same caring cloth. Yet his cloth was scratchy and itchy, like horrible holiday sweaters. The one Officer Miller gave him came to mind, made from a fabric far too similar to the metal scrubber he used on the steel pots. He thought away from the comparison, shaking his head. “No, I’ll be fine… In a way, I think I needed to be here for a bit. Resolve some things.”

Markus let out a sigh, not even trying to hide it. It was relieved and the smile he gave him after was warm. “I understand. I’ll send Ariel, another helper like Lucy, to come check on you after a bit.” Connor rolled his eyes, playfully sending the other off with turning back to the trellis.

“Thank you.” He really didn’t need to be checked on, but he wouldn’t turn down the offer for help. Markus cared, about everyone on his team, and about his friends. Connor was glad to be under both categories and cared for in both regards.

After a few moments, footsteps trailed off, back across the bridge, and Connor heaved a deep breath he didn’t need. Even in the light of day, he could see the red glow from his insides reflected on the white of the trellis as he looked back to the flower in his hand. With an easy snap, he pulled the rose free from the others. Info blurbs about how the rose would live, how long and what he could do to keep it alive, popped up but he pushed them aside, just bringing the red bloom close to his face.

He thought about Amanda again. He wished he had done more for her. Maybe later, he’d take a trip to the Cyberlife building, the new tower, and see if the AI remained. If there was any part of the Amanda he knew still remaining. But right now, he let his eyes lower, just focusing on the rose. 

In the garden, that was all he could smell. Roses and trees and water from the pond. Here, all the other flowers, the scent of cars in the distance, the recent rain- he could catch it all, just under the scent of the rose. It was recently watered too, the drops on his hand now that he pulled it free from the trellis.

In a way, he missed her, he supposed. There was nothing good about her, and he knew that, but there was that innate loss. She was a part of him. Like his Cyberlife coat and his arm. And without those, he felt- not fully himself. Not different, he was, and would hopefully forever be, just Connor, a deviant that worked for the DPD and Jericho. It was just that bits of him were missing. Unlike his arm, those bits were never coming back.

The garden program was gone, and with it, Amanda. And his coat was tattered and torn, too many holes to repair. It laid across a chair in his bedroom, for what reason Connor wasn’t even sure of. He knew he was holding onto his past, but to let go meant to go into the future.

 _That_ was a terrifying thought. He looked up to the trellis again, wondering what his future would’ve been if he had made Amanda proud. Would she have continued to use him, hunting down deviants? Or would she have replaced them both? He sighed and twirled the rose in his hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement and presumed it was the KL900 coming out to check on him. Yet as he turned his head, the rose dropped from his hand. In a way all too similar to a pre-construction, he saw _Amanda_. She was smiling, like she had been in the garden, and watering the roses. Once more, he heard soft humming.

Unlike before, he did not reach out this time. There would be no use. He knew, logically, she was not there. She couldn’t be. So instead, he grabbed the bottle on the table, the one still on the table, and began misting the blooms as well. In silence, he worked with the image of the woman, until her voice spoke up. It came as such a shock he almost dropped his bottle. “You needn't have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do.”

The words were familiar, but yet here, in the warm open air, a world where androids and humans were finding peace with each other and each other’s freedom… They didn’t sound as harsh or as terrifying. It was almost… relieving. Permission, to let go of the guilt for not doing more. And reassuring, even if it was just a memory replaying in the daylight.

He was certain the program, and AI, were gone, yet he held onto the guilt of what he couldn’t change until it manifested. He remained there, LED red as his internals, and then he blinked, and she was just… gone. There was no mist on the flowers she had been spraying, and of course, it had to have been a resulting glitch in his program, not yet settled from all the damage. He was ashamed to admit he avoided stasis for a bit.

Still, the glitch was beyond weird, and he turned to set the bottle down, picking up his dropped rose instead. As predicted, it didn’t take the fall well, and he was reminded firsthand the fragility of real roses. Of real emotions.

“Connor, are you alright?” Turning quickly, he was relieved to see the face of Ariel. “Come, sit down with me. No objections, we need to _talk_.” As Connor twirled the rose, looking again to the trellis, he didn’t have any objections to begin with. He knew she was right, and talking to someone objective to his guilt… He knew it would help him heal.

“Alright… Alright, let’s go talk.” He swore, walking away from the trellis, he could hear a faint humming in the wind past them, blowing through the reeds. He set aside a solid eight hours of forced stasis for tonight. 


End file.
